


End of Days

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Sherlock John Watson - Freeform, Sherlock at 80 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:32:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has died of a medical condition. Sherlock is bereft, until his 'son' returns from the states with a proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of Days

**Author's Note:**

> This was to be the start of a AU that I never really went back to. But I think it is good enough to stand alone.

Sherlock looked into the cardboard casket. Holding a purple rose**, he placed the tender blossom in John’s hand. Kissing John, touching him for the very last time. John had requested cremation and Sherlock would see to his last wish. Sherlock looked at the old man in the casket. Eighty-nine years and he had died as he had lived at Sherlock’s side. Sherlock felt empty, hollow, never to be filled again.

Mrs. Hudson was gone, leaving 221B to him in her will. Lestrade had retired early after that near fatal accident. Molly had married and gone to live in Dublin. He still consulted with the new people at the Met and at Bart’s, but it wouldn’t the same without John.

John had been there through it all. A lifetime of adventures that had finally taken his blogger, his lover and his best friend. At least it had been quick; a brain aneurism took the only person he’d ever loved away.

The service was short and very memorable. John had many friends and a few family members. Sherlock watched in the end when they rolled the body into the crematorium, watched as the flames consumed the body. _Good-bye, my love._ Sherlock touched his hand to his heart as he felt his spirit melt in the flames.

The ashes encased in a plain copper urn, which Sherlock took home. He placed it on the table next to his chair. He wanted to cry, but he had forgotten how. 

Everyone had been concerned, but Sherlock wouldn’t allow anyone to be with him. Only John.

Sherlock looked into the mirror over the mantle. He saw an eighty four year old man, distinguished looking, graying at the temples, still as thin as ever, a creature of darkness filled with inextinguishable sorrow. There was sounds at the front door. Sherlock let himself in with a key, coming up the stairs. 

“Dad,” Sherlock John Watson said. “I’m sorry I missed the funeral. The Forensic Pathologists convention in the states made it hard to get back, it took more time than I expected.”

“Locky,” (for that is what Sherlock John was called so as not to confuse everyone with two Sherlock’s) Sherlock embraced his son in name only. “I know you tried your best to make it. The funeral was well attend. I know father would have approved.”

Sherlock lifted the urn to present it to John’s son. 

“We’ll keep the urn here.” Locky said knowing that this was a difficult time for his ‘dad’. His mother having died when he was quite young, he only had memories of his father and Sherlock in his childhood.

Sherlock’s eyes glittered with tears of relief. Losing John again would have been another blow that he was prepared to handle, but now he didn’t have to. Locky made tea and brought out some fresh biscuits.

“I’ve come,” Locky, said putting his teacup down on its saucer, “to offer you my services I want to move back into 221B. To be your new blogger and crack shot. Would that be okay with you dad?”

Sherlock looked at the very young version of John. His heart flooded with feelings he couldn’t quantify.

“Are you sure about this Locky, running around London with the oldest consulting detective in the world?”

“Working with one of the finest Criminologist on the planet? Dad, I can’t think of anything else that I’d rather be doing with my life.”

Locky could see Sherlock’s strength and energy surge once more. He felt Sherlock’s presence in the room, like electricity, it innervated Locky as it always had. Sherlock was amazing. 

“Alright,” the elder Sherlock said, “but you will have to call me Sherlock. Dad might be a bit awkward in some of the circumstances in which we will find ourselves.”

“I know I can’t replace my father in your heart, dad. If you would care to, you can call me John,” Locky said. He loved the man his father had named him after, the man his father had married sometime after his mother’s death.

“John, yes I think I can remember that.” Sherlock smiled. It was as if he was reborn. What was lost, was found again.

There was a look of pride and eagerness in ‘John’s’ eyes. He could hardly wait to begin this new life with his dad, Sherlock Holmes. He remembered what his father had told him some years ago when he’d left for university.

_“Locky, if anything should happen to me. I want you to promise me that you will take care of your dad, yeah? He will need a new assistant and with your forensics background, you will be the best man he can get. With Mycroft gone, he will have no family to turn to. We will be his family.”_

_“Father, I would be honored to work at dad’s side until the end of his days.” Locky had promised._

_“Good man,” John senior had said. He was relieved knowing that Sherlock could find no better companion than their only son who would be there for him, always._

 

**The lavender rose is often a sign of enchantment and love at first sight. Those who have been enraptured by feelings of love and adoration have used lavender roses to express their romantic feelings and intentions.


End file.
